I met Philip at a coffee house. We were both waiting at the counter, standing a few feet apart, when the barista called his order first. He was wearing black-framed glasses, a grey t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, and a pair of athletic shorts. I was in a knee-length flowy red skirt and black top, tight enough to showcase my ample breasts. He was typing something on his phone, not really acknowledging anyone around him. He certainly didn't seem to notice me checking him out, which allowed me a very good look.
"Chai with oat milk for Phil." He looked up finally, slid his phone into his pocket, and stepped to the counter, grabbing the paper cup and turning around.
He must have seen me laugh because he blushed slightly before he said, "Hey, it tastes better than regular milk." I just shrugged, waiting for the barista to set down my own order. A moment later, her voice rang out again.
"Another chai with oat milk for Kat."
I picked up my cup and raised it in mock cheers. Philip laughed and there was something about him that made me ask to sit at his table instead of running straight home. He smiled brightly and gestured to the chair across from him. We chatted and flirted a bit, discussing the nerdy stickers on his phone case, our respective jobs, and my love of RPGs, both board and video.
"I still remember when the Super Nintendo came out," I said, sipping the last of my chai. "Do you remember that? It was so amazing."
"Uh, no," he said with a laugh. "I was like two."
"What? How old are you?"
"I'm 32," he said casually.
"Shit, I'm ten years older than you." I shook my head as another smile crossed his face, unveiling his prominent canine teeth, which I found surprisingly attractive.
We exchanged snaps and started chatting that evening. It didn't take long for our conversations to get personal, then intimate, then sexual. I told him about my open marriage and he told me about his decidedly closed one. He was sexually unsatisfied at home, his wife uninterested, and the acts felt mostly transactional.
Messages gave way to photos, photos to videos, and soon we were sexting and making each other cum at nearly every opportunity. His videos made my pulse pound. Listening to him talk to me, watching his face as he stroked his cock. There was no mistaking that I wanted to take our friendship to the benefits level.
Physically, he ticked all the boxes. His body was strong, with just a layer of softness to it. The kind of body that could cuddle you tightly, making you feel warm and secure and then fuck you senseless into the morning.
His ass, thighs, and calves were firm from years of various sports in his youth, and showcased when he wore shorts, which was most of the time. His light, hazel-green eyes sparkled with excitement as he discussed topics that he loved. His hair and beard were both dark and shortly trimmed, with just a few grey hairs emerging..
Philip was, simply put, the whole package. But I was especially drawn to a very specific feature. There was something about his mouth: the sharp curves, how the lower lip was thicker than the top, how he bit it when he was turned on. And yes, those cute little sharp fangs. I wanted that mouth on mine, kissing me, then moving slowly down my body. I told him so, many times.
He would echo my sentiments but any discussion of logistics caused him to become reluctant and shut down my attempts.
*I can't be physical with you. This has to stay online. Maybe we can be friends, but nothing more.*
*Of course,* I wrote back. *I would never pressure you into something you're not comfortable with.*
*Thank you for understanding. You're so awesome.*
As much as I wanted to respect his boundaries, my desire for Philip only grew the more I learned about him. Our tastes in books, movies, video games, D&D, hiking, animals. The attraction was impossible to deny. When we weren't marveling about how similar we were or showing off our naked bodies, we complained about our respective spouses. Mine had a tendency to get jealous, even though we were open. His was grumpy and borderline mean to him. Still, despite his grumbling, he still maintained that he was, overall, happy. For the most part. Usually.
And so it came to pass, several months after we met, we were chatting at a new coffee house on a dark and rainy evening. It was nearly empty, with just one or two other couples sitting around the room. We sat at a square table, taking adjacent sides, our knees occasionally touching. My eyes darted across the screen of the laptop open between us, helping him proofread his current sci-fi story. It was a pretty transparent reason to see him, to be close to him again. I could smell him, clean from a recent shower and slightly spicy, probably his deodorant. I would read a few paragraphs, give him mild critique, a bit of praise, and then read a bit more. He truly had a gift with words. We went on like this for a while, in intermittent silence.
"God, you look amazing," he said suddenly. I had chosen this dress especially for him, though I didn't tell him that. It was dark blue and low cut, showing off the deep cleavage between my pale, round breasts. The skirt was short enough to reveal most of my thigh when I crossed my legs, which I tried to do whenever possible.
"Thank you, Philip." I said with a wry smile, my amber eyes peering into his green ones.
He laughed. "I told you, only my mom calls me Philip. Call me Phil."
I leaned to him, my lips a fraction of an inch from his ear. "Philip," I whispered in a sultry voice. I saw his eyes widen for the briefest of moments, then he cleared his throat as I leaned back. I laughed lightly.
"Okay then, *Katherine,*" he said exaggeratedly. He shifted in his chair and I imagined with a muted sigh what might be happening in his pants. The barista set our mugs down. I had a hot cider, and he ordered a chai, as usual. We thanked her and she nodded, walking back behind the counter.
"I still can't believe you didn't want to try it," he said, "look at this whipped cream. It's a work of art." I peered into the mug.
